David Lewis Paget
David Lewis Paget Poems
|881.||Woman In Black||11/4/2012|
|882.||Woman In Child||9/18/2005|
|883.||Woman Of Stone||3/15/2012|
|886.||Would He Even Know Me Now?||3/4/2008|
|893.||You Can'T Come In!||7/17/2014|
|894.||You Can'T Go Out Today!||10/4/2013|
|895.||You Were Only Talking...||2/22/2008|
|896.||You'Ve Got Magic!||4/30/2009|
Her hair was as black as a starling's tail,
Her cheeks as pale as a swan,
Her eyes, like two slim moonstones, glowed
And her mouth was the Holy Grail.
She'd played in the dirt of the village street
So long ago, so long...
She'd swum in the pools of the mountain stream,
But now, that girl had gone.
While I still rise with the early bird
To tend to my father's fields,
As the only son of an only son
I watched the woman leave.
She cried sweet tears as she said farewell
And vowed to come back, and soon,
But the village streets of a western ...
The Many Lyves Of...
I’d never felt comfortable in that house
Not once, since we’d moved on in,
A rambling, derelict, barn of a house,
Three storeys of age-old sin.
Nobody said there’d been murders there,
Or told of the gypsy’s curse,
Three hundred years of discarded junk
And I don’t know which was worse.